“And they broke my heart by sending me to Coventry,” went on Pat, as if Cuddles had not spoken. “They never knew how cruel they were. And the night you came home, Judy, and I smelt the ham frying!”

“Sure, minny’s the good liddle bite we’ve had in the ould days, Patsy. But there’s as minny ahead as behind I’m hoping. And maybe, Miss Cuddles…as I shud be after calling Rachel…if ye won’t be stoning inny cherries will ye be above making some blueberry muffins for supper? Patsy is wanting to finish her hemstitching and Siddy’s that fond av thim.”

“I’ll do that,” agreed Cuddles. “I like blueberry things. Oh, and I’m going up to the Bay Shore next week to pick blueberries with Winnie. She says I can sleep out in a tent right down by the shore. I want to sleep out some night here in Silver Bush. We could have a hammock swung between those two big trees there. It would be heavenly. Judy, did Uncle Tom ever have any love affairs when he was young?”

“Oh, oh, the way ye do be jumping from one thing to another!” protested Judy. “No doubt he had his fun girling like the rest av the b’ys. I’m not knowing why it niver turned sarious. What put him into yer head?”

“He’s asked me to mail a letter for him at Silverbridge three times this summer. He said they were too nosy at the North Glen post office. It was addressed to a lady.”

Pat and Judy exchanged knowing glances. Judy repressed her excitement and spoke with careful carelessness.

“Did ye be noticing the name av the lady, Cuddles darlint?”

“Oh, Mrs. Something-or-other,” said Cuddles with a yawn. “I forget the name. Uncle Tom looked so red and sheepish when he asked me I just wondered what he was up to.”

“Yer Uncle Tom must be close on sixty,” reflected Judy. “It do be the time some min take a second silly spell about the wimmen. But wid Edith to kape him straight he can’t go far. Sure and I do be minding how crazy he was to go to the Klondike whin the big gold rush was on…nather to hold nor bind. But me lady Edith nipped that in the bud and I’m thinking he’s niver ralely forgiven her for it. Oh, oh, we’ve all had our bits av drames that niver come true. If I cud just have a run over to the Ould Country now and see if Castle McDermott is as grand as it used to be. But it’ll niver niver come to pass.”

“‘Each mortal has his Carcassonne,’” quoted Pat dreamily, recalling a poem Hilary Gordon had marked for her once.